


Like You've Played This Game Before

by sugarby



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23311489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: "Four times?" Lio remembers to breathe and the heat clouds between their faces before it ghosts out. "You idiot."It would have to be a number like four.It's Galo Thymos after all; everything about him has to be unbelievably grand and great. Selfless to a blatant fault, himself be damned, and infuriate those who care and Lio cares an awful lot.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Like You've Played This Game Before

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more of a fan of the HG franchise than I realise since this is the second au of it I've written.
> 
> I really don't know how I was able to write this out when I'm struggling to be motivated to finish the last chapter of another but I'm not sorry. The ideal would've been to fully flesh this out but, as I often remind myself, short fics are okay too (me, writing a 1k+ word fic: is this a drabble?).

"Four."

Lio has only really ever had to hold his breath a handful of times.

When a teacher in the fourth grade mispronounced a word, instead of correcting her he zoned out of the lesson, convinced entirely by then that anything else she would have to say wouldn't be correct either.

When his mother's best friend who was really more of an aunt came round for tea and to show off her hideous new gown; course, he couldn't very well have told her that so he smiled through a mouthful of food and kept his genuine opinion to himself.

Green wasn't a colour to be messed with and picked apart and just slapped against unflattering shades but she had purchased such a revolting thing and was quite happy to have done so.

When a few bullies cornered him and shoved his head into a river. He had just been discovered as a Burnish and that went about as well as anyone could have imagined but not prepared him well enough for.

Three against one, they held him by the collar and treated him like a apple to be bobbed in the depths. It hurt like hell, his limits he eventually had to push to endure the long moments they kept him underwater but mostly the way the chilling water that winter morning was merciless from all directions.

They all seem much paler compared to the breath he's been holding now. He doesn't realise he's keeping it back; it's a reaction that comes naturally in this scenario where, no matter the answer to his inquiry, it will inevitably hurt to hear.

Galo says the number softly and it nevertheless spreads an echo across the wide space of their secretive getaway of an entire lake seemingly frozen indefinitely.

It's without dirt or signs of abuse, a spotless and sparkling surface of smooth, glass-like ice and it belongs to them. Found after the rough tumble down the hill preceding it, Galo was over the moon about it and offered to split the ownership in half so they could both come here to think.

To just be. To talk. To escape.

A space of ice can only let them escape so far and for so long though. The edge of Promepolis is alight and easily identifiable from where they're sitting crosslegged near the rim of the lake, the city's tall security lights and advanced, alabaster-coloured architecture serving as familial marks.

"Four times?" Lio remembers to breathe and the heat clouds between their faces before it ghosts out. "You idiot."

It would have to be a number like four.

It's Galo Thymos after all; everything about him has to be unbelievably grand and great. Selfless to a blatant fault, himself be damned, and infuriate those who care and Lio cares an awful lot.

Just having your name in _once_ is bad enough and everyone in Promepolis—in every district—is automatically entered when they come of age but Galo has to think of everyone and anyone but himself and bargain for more.

One entry is bad, two is unfortunate, three is devastating and everything above is a suicide sentence because the odds are already against you.

Promepolis isn't a remarkably large city and Galo's been lucky up to now to have never been picked. He takes his luck and being called an idiot with one of his famous grins that he bestows upon awed children and large crowds he charms, as if he hasn't bargained his life four times.

"The way I see it, this means there's less chance of anyone else getting picked!"

Lio smacks a palm against the frozen lake; it starts to melt under the shape of it. "So that makes it okay?! You won't even hold a bow to a rabbit, Galo! I know you!"

Sometimes the dilapidated area of the city housing Burnish refugees isn't so kind as to offer enough necessities like food. A lot of the time Lio takes it upon himself to go out hunting deep in the forest on the outskirts of the city with his bow and arrows made from his own flames.

Sometimes Galo comes along but he always trails behind with fingers pinching a piece of Lio's leather jacket as he shifts between psyching himself up and begging Lio to turn back and not make a cute, little bunny rabbit someone's stew.

The delay and inconsistency is bothersome but the equalled sensitivity to spare and determination to stay at Lio's side are what make him appreciate Galo all the more in such a cruel world.

If their unity could be captured, they would represent two contrasting halves of a promising 'Someone will die' and reassuring 'of fun!'.

So different but working well regardless.

 _Harmonising_ like the handful of blue and pink flames Lio calls upon.

Galo fidgets around on the lake, trying to lessen the dampness forming under his trousers. It was his idea for them to hang out like this here and he never thought to even bring the blanket from the back of his motorcycle or to just stand. 

Lio's pact with his flames has kept him heated on the regular for so long now that cold is more of a concept than a feeling.

He remembers from the dunking several years ago that it's numbingly sharp like needles.

"Burnish are typically always entered. You're safe."

That would make anyone joyous, to be exempt from the blood sport. It pulls Galo's smile into a pout like a child being denied sweets, all sour and confused but unwilling to budge.

Burnish names are entered twice. The city's population count will never interfere with making sure they're the ones sent to the slaughter for entertainment. Better for them to die in the games for views than live to rebel and start fires.

Galo's hand lays over Lio's still on the ice with a crevice under it now. "I don't want it to be you again."

"It has to be someone."

"That's why I—"

" _No_ , not _you_."

"Oh, I get it! You think I'm too stupid to last, right?! Well, whatever! You can teach me, right?! You won the first games!"

"Not by _killing everyone else_!" Lio snappily reminds, then scoffs, "And we all know how badly Kray was foaming at the mouth for it."

That name and the face that goes with it are a red flag to Lio and his kind.

Kray Foresight governs the city behind a false advocation of a smile and peace when he isn't experimenting and slaughtering burnish.

He's the one who orchestrates picking them out of their homes and throwing them into his game of fighting to the death as a way to keep people in line and snuff out any and all hopes of rebellion, even the smallest sparks of hope in a free tomorrow.

Lio generally refrains from violence without good reason but in a kill or be killed scenario where the odds will never be in favour of a Burnish, where Galo's faith in the world is too sweet, there is hardly anything like reason to be found.

Kray sent Lio in hoping he would die or wish for death from an absurd amount of blood on his hands.

Kray didn't count on Lio's will being as strong and fierce as his flames and getting him through it, hiding most days and scouting most nights over sleeping bodies.

Everyone on the island killed each other off and the one or two that managed to find Lio were outmatched and met an unfortunate end from falling off the cliffside.

There was a girl named Thyma, also burnish, and too nice for such a nasty game. Their friendship was brief but memorable, concluding when she was struck in the heart by a crossbow.

The other remaining contestant poisoned themselves with berries and that morning, Lio was woken up by a loud flare gun and his name in lights under a crow and the words 'WINNER'.

It was a bitter victory.

Galo gapes, wide eyed, "I-I'm not gonna _kill_ anyone, Lio!"

"What the fuck do you think happens in a battle royale?!"

"I figure I'll find some other way?!"

"Well I'm not holding my breath!"

"Lio—"

"It's winner takes all, Galo! Last man standing!"

"I know!"

"Even if you came up with some dumb idea for us to team up, it wouldn't work!"

"I'd look out for you, though! We could have each other's backs—"

"Could you kill for me?"

"If I had to!" Galo answers too quickly for hesitation to even be considered.

There it is, another echo tiptoeing across the lake.

"It's not hypothetical. Keep that cavalry mentality though and pray you're never picked."

"That _we're_ never picked." Galo corrects, his smile back to dust off the uncharacteristically sullen look he had been wearing. He perks up quite easily, shimmying even closer and patting Lio's thigh, "C'mon, let's keep playing! I answered your question about how many times I put my name in this year!"

Oh, right, they had been in the middle of it, hadn't they?

Lio groans, "I don't like this game."

Galo grins, "You say that every time and still play!"

"Yeah." Lio adjusts his position to sit up straighter, readying himself. He leans his head forward.

Galo leans forward and their foreheads gently connect. They stay as still as possible and keep their eyes on each others, open and unblinking, unable to evade or hide.

It's _their game_ as much as Lio claims to dislike it. A mix of a staring contest and truth without dare.

The first to blink or look away has to honestly answer whatever the other asks in under ten seconds or get the penalty flick across the nose (and a hint that there's something worth keeping).

The same applies if they refuse to answer as well but they're both too genuine and trusting of each other for that.

A bond like theirs? There's little to no room or reason for secrets.

So Lio likes to believe but he looks away in reconsideration.

Galo grins at his win. "Right." He leans away and rolls his shoulder muscles back, then outstretches his hands as his fingers crack. He leans his head one way, the other, and breathes in, out. "Lucia says she saw you in the market today. The one by the old shoe factory."

The one that regularly resells sold or lost items no one claims; a small thing on the end of a rustic street past dusty and smoky factories in the outer city. Burnish frequent there, unable to afford the mainstream extravagant Promepolis malls.

Lio says, "Lucia sees a lot of things. She's tapped into every camera in the city. My turn—"

"Hold on!" Galo chuckles and touches his hand, "She says you bought something. About the size and shape of something cool in particular?"

"I'm not hearing a question."

Galo slaps his thigh and squirms, "Is it a Matoi?! Oh, please tell me you got me a Matoi figure, Lio!"

He's been obsessed with Matois—transformable mecha suits toys—for as long as Lio's known him. They're from an old cartoon he remembers watching all the time with his parents before they died in a house fire and so they're one of the few physical forms of his memories with them that he can cherish.

Plus, he gushes about how cool their armours are.

Lio holds his breath for the second time tonight but releases it much quicker than before. He rummages around in a pocket teasingly slow and chucks something over at Galo.

He flails but catches it and lights up all over again with a sparkle in his eyes, an excited breath of red splashed across his cheeks in delight.

"LIIOOOO!"

"I heard from a Burnish that the store found one of those things and I couldn't be a jackass and not nab it for you. You know?" Lio sort of shrugs with his hands still pocketed, playing it cool as if he didn't go down first thing and insist he be the one to purchase it.

Galo cradles it in his hands.

An acrylic charm outlined in sparkly gold with a pin on the back; a miniature Matoi suit displayed at the forefront in its white, blue and red armour and mop-looking staff.

"Lio, you didn't...this is so cool! I'm gonna wear it!"  
  
"You don't have to."

"I'm gonna and you can't stop me!"  
  
"Galo—"  
  
"Wearing it. Hah!" Galo poses with arms to his hips and his chest pushed out, the pin resting nicely against the breast pocket of his shirt. 

"Very nice."

"I love it! I love you!"

"Idiot." Lio turns away.

"That counts as a loss by the way. I get to ask another question!"

That was never an agreed upon rule but Lio allows it, the handsome smile of Galo's making him forget how annoyed he ought to be. He feels warmer than he should while they're out on that frozen lake and time feels distant.

He forgets disliking their game until Promepolis sounds the siren for the Governor's approaching visit, reminding him there is a much worse game they could be playing.


End file.
